Snow Globes and Hand Grenades (9 page)

The morning hours passed slower than picking an elbow scab that wasn't ready to come off yet. Miss Kleinschmidt opened the windows that faced the school's front lawn and the rows of big houses across the street. Fresh air and birdsong, and the purr of passing traffic reminded the students there was an outside world they would soon be a part of, a free world beyond eighth grade. But they had to get through the next two weeks and the snow globe investigation and another long morning of captivity. First there was algebra, and social studies, and reading time. Patrick got out his book on Dillinger
and read the part where Dillinger knocked off a bank in Greencastle, Indiana. It was a corner bank across from the town courthouse along a row of busy shops.

Dillinger and the gang stepped out of the sunshine into the bank with guns drawn announcing a holdup. The teller on duty, a nervous young man, led them to the safe. It was a double combination safe, and the teller had to dial the numbers just right or it wouldn't open. He got it open and later told the newspaper, “It was easy with a Tommy gun pointed at my head.” Dillinger and the gang made off with $70,000 in cash and securities without firing a shot. It was Dillinger's biggest haul. Afterwards, they hid out at a lake house in the area while police everywhere were looking for them. But they couldn't find Dillinger. He was too smart.

At recess, Patrick and Tony drifted over near the fence, and looked around. Sister Mathilda, the blind nun in the black habit, was going back and forth on the dog-run line. A couple of Mothers' Club guards were over by some first graders commenting on how big the girls were getting and how soon they'd be eighth graders. “If only they could stay this way,” the Mothers' Club guard said. That's when Mimi gave the boys a wink, and the two of them slipped through the break in the fence into the backyards that ran behind the playground. Racing along, jumping hedges, and weaving around birdbaths, they rounded the corner at the far end of the playground and cut through a yard beside the priests' house. Father Maligan, the ancient priest who was practically deaf, smoked his pipe and read the horse racing section of the sports page by his open window. He didn't see them. No one did.

They stripped down to their underwear in some bushes at the house next door to Mimi's. Tony grabbed the ski mask and held it ready. Patrick picked up the Nixon mask and looked at the nose.

“Why are we doing all this?” Patrick asked.

“Hell if I know. We better put on the gloves.”

They put on the rubber gloves and watched for the mailman, reviewing their plans for the heist.

“When he gets here—if he gets here—we'll wait until his back is turned as he goes up the hill to Mimi's house.”

“I know,” Tony said.

“Then we'll run out and grab his bag.”

“I know.”

“And we'll keep running two more yards that way, then hang a right and loop back here through the back yards to get our clothes.”

“Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

“What was it like?”

“What?”

“When you got the grenade?”

“You saw. I just grabbed it and threw it right away and ducked.”

“No, I mean when you put your hand in her shirt looking for it, what was that like?”

Patrick didn't want to talk about that again. Tony had already asked him about eight times. He stretched out his hands and looked at his fingers in the aqua blue rubber gloves. “It was nothing. It was just real quick.”

“Come one, I gotta know. Can you describe them?”

“What?”

“Don't give me that shit. You know what I'm talking about.”

“It all happened so fast.”

“Come on, I have to know because you know I like Mimi. I'm just afraid that after what happened. You might like her, too. Maybe she even likes you better than me.”

Patrick put on the Nixon mask and looked at Tony. “Look, I'm telling you the truth. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her. I swear. You saw her first. You're the one for her. Not me. I'm just a helper. I mean, you saw her first, remember?”

“That's right,” Tony said smiling. He started boogie dancing in his underwear to limber up. He was feeling better.

Patrick felt his hot, lying breath steaming up inside the Nixon mask. How could he be such a cheat to his best friend? Tony's heart was set on Mimi, so Patrick decided—again—to try to not like her anymore, to only see the bad things about her and find fault with her. But he couldn't think of any. Mimi had all the essential qualities a girl needed—beauty, intelligence, and she was always in trouble.

“Here he comes,” Tony whispered putting on his ski mask.

The mailman approached the yard unaware he was being watched. He was a portly man in his forties, fond of fishing, and daydreaming about the upcoming Memorial Day weekend at Bull Shoals Lake and Resort that was
just two weeks away. On last year's trip, he got a sudden violent jerk on his line from a fish that awoke him from a nap in his shore chair. The drag on his reel was whining and grinding as the fish pulled out more and more line. He leaped up, planted his feet in the mud and gripped the pole as tight as he could, fighting with the unseen fish for two minutes before it shot up above the water. It was a large mouth bass, a five pounder.

Patrick and Tony ran up behind the mailman.

The fish arced and skipped and thrashed and buffeted across the sun streaked lake chop. “You're not getting away from me,” the mailman told the fish.

Just then the mailman felt a violent tug on his leather bag shoulder strap. It slipped off his shoulder and fell halfway down his arm. But he cocked his elbow shut tight, pinning the strap between his arm muscles, and looked to see what it was.

Two boys in nothing but white underwear and masks were yanking on the mailbag.

The mailman's heart hammered. “I've got you,” he yelled. The boys jerked and twisted and pulled on the strap. Swatting them with a fistful of letters in his left hand, the mailman kept his bag strap tight in his clenched right arm. He danced toward the boys on the sloped lawn, letting them run with the bait a little to tire them out. They fought and pulled, moving about eight feet away from the spot of the original strike. It was no use. Patrick and Tony were panting inside their masks, losing energy. Their naked skin was pink with over exertion. “You're not getting away from me,” the mailman thundered. But just as he said that—the strap went slack.

Tony gave it one more sudden pull and the mailbag snapped loose from the shoulder strap. The mailman fell backwards one way, and the boys fell backwards the other.

“Let's go,” Tony yelled.

The boys jumped up and Patrick took the mailbag. They ran through front yards barefoot in the grass while the mailman watched lying on his back. Patrick started throwing out a trail of coupons and junk mail, bank statements and anything that didn't look like a regular letter Mimi had described. They darted to the right between two houses and started looping back to get their clothes.

“Have you got it?” Tony said running.

“I'm looking for the last name,” Patrick said tossing out more utility bills and credit card offers addressed to Mimi's neighbors. They passed a retired man in one back yard practicing his nine iron shots with a plastic golf ball. He wore a light windbreaker and was whistling “Stardust.” His back was to them and he didn't see a thing.

The mailman clambered to his feet and tucked in his shirt. He picked up some letters he had dropped and stumbled up the front steps of Mimi's house and pounded on the door. Mimi's mother, who had been on the sofa watching
The Young and the Restless
, jumped up to unlock the door.

“What's wrong?”

The mailman leaned against the doorframe, panting. “Call the police. They attacked me.”

“Who?” She looked around.

“Nixon and another guy, both in their underwear.”

Mimi's mom leaned farther out the front door and saw the trail of letters on the lawns. The mailman handed her a stack of bills—and Mimi's letter—which had been in his delivery hand when the attack began.

Patrick and Tony reached the bushes where their clothes were hidden and fell to their knees. They took off their masks. Patrick dumped over the mailbag in the mud. They rifled through the letters with their gloved hands.

“I can't find it. There's nothing here.”

“Well, we can at least tell her the good news. There was no mail for her house today.”

Mimi's mom threw the mail down atop the closed lid of the upright piano and called the police. She brought the mailman a glass of water, which he drank sitting on the front porch steps. He was getting his breath back and told her a little about the holdup. “Same thing happened to me at Bull Shoals,” he said. “You have to keep the line tight, or it might break.”

Patrick and Tony got dressed, ran back to the bridge, ditched the masks and gloves there, and sped through yards like Dillinger after a bank heist to get back before recess was over. When they arrived in the gap of the back playground fence, their classmates were lining up to go up the gym steps for graduation rehearsal. They ran up last in line, wiped sweat from their faces with their uniform ties, and climbed the steps into the gymnasium.

“What do you think Mimi will say?” Tony whispered.

“I don't know, but whatever she says, I'm not going back again tomorrow.”

THAT NIGHT AT DINNER, Mimi sat in her place next to her dad. She was wearing shorts with knee high socks, and the second fake letter from Holy Footsteps Academy—the letter saying they were looking forward to her coming—was tucked neatly out of view inside her right sock. It was licked shut inside a stamped official school envelope addressed to her parents. To make the postage stamp look canceled, Mimi had drawn squiggly lines across it with a blue ink pen.

Mimi's mind was racing, because her mother had told her about the mailman being robbed—but somehow their mail got through. Somewhere in the house that first fake letter was lying around. Mimi knew her mom hadn't read it or she would have said something. So Mimi had scoured the first floor looking for it—under the couch pillows, in the desk, on the mantle, in the den—but couldn't find it. Now she and her dad were at the dinner table alone waiting for everyone else. Mimi's sister was playing scales, up and down, on and on. The only good thing was no one had noticed the missing hand grenade.

“Mimi, have you seen the mail?” her dad asked.

“Why, no. I haven't. Have you?”

“No, but I'm expecting an important letter from the office and your mother just told me there was some kind of hooliganism with the mailman.”

“Time for dinner,” Mimi's mom called as she emerged from the kitchen.
She was holding a supper dish and stood at the end of the dining room table. “Come on, guys, time for dinner.”

Mimi heard her brother switch off the TV, and her sister stop playing scales. But Mimi didn't see her sister put away her scale book and close the lid on the piano because if she had, she'd have known exactly where the missing mail was. When Mimi's sister had come home from school, she'd flipped up the piano lid to practice, obscuring the mail from view. Now that she'd stopped for dinner, the mail that had been hidden from view flopped into sight and the letter from Holy Footsteps Academy fell on the rug. She picked it up and tossed it back on the piano with the rest of the mail.

Mimi's sister and brother came in and they all sat down. “Hurry up, let's eat,” Mimi's dad said. “Smells like your mother's made a us another wonderful dinner.” He looked across the table at her with respect. “I don't know how you do it.”

“Oh, it's nothing,” she said with a smile.

“It's not nothing, darling. It's like you run your own successful corporation right here.”

Mimi's mom blushed at the compliment and set down the apricot chicken casserole with white rice. For sides, there were green beans and fresh baked crescent rolls. It was quiet, like a golf tournament, as Mimi's mom looked at her dad to signal him to say grace.

“In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost,” he said. Everyone made the sign of the cross while looking down at their plates bright with dishwasher shine. “Bless us oh Lord and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

The whole family said the “amen” part together, then did the sign of the cross again and looked up at the food. Mimi wasn't hungry. She had eaten three Twinkies during the failed letter search and had downed a big glass of milk to calm her nerves.

“Now, what's all this about the mailman?” Mimi's dad said, serving himself some apricot chicken and rice. He passed it to Mimi, who wrinkled her nose and took just a little bit.

“I told you, he was robbed,” Mimi's mom said from her end of the table.

“I never heard of such a thing.”

“Did they have guns, Mom?” Mimi's little brother asked.

“No, the mailman said they were boys in underwear and masks.”

Everyone laughed. Mimi noticed she wasn't laughing, so she worked up a fake one to blend in.

“We shouldn't laugh,” Mimi's mom said, scolding herself. “The mailman was quite upset. I can't understand why this would happen on our front lawn.”

“Probably a coincidence,” Mimi said. “Please, pass the rolls.”

“I'm expecting an important piece of mail from work,” Mimi's dad said chewing away on string beans.

“Don't worry, our mail got through,” Mimi's mom said, “I just can't remember where I put it in all the excitement.”

Mimi's sister slugged back some milk and put down her glass with a gasp and a thump. “It's on the piano. I just saw it.”

“I'll get it for you,” Mimi said, shooting out of her chair.

“Mimi, sit down,” her mom said before Mimi had a chance to get to the living room. “You haven't touched your dinner. Look at your sister's plate. She knows how to eat. I'll get the mail.”